Sam squeals.
“OMG, a six pack? Did you see him with his shirt off?”
I nod.
"Hell yeah. The other day, Mr. Sterling was moving around dirt in his yard with a wheelbarrow and he took his shirt off because of the heat. Girl, I almost fainted. His skin glistened in the sun, sweat dripping down his torso to his totally sculpted abs. It was an amazing show, and I could hardly breathe.”
Sam gasps, her eyes wide.
“Are you serious?”
I nod.
“Yeah, Mr. Sterling’s upper arms were straining against the weight of the wheelbarrow and then he stopped, wiped his face on a towel and drank out of a water bottle. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down while he swallowed his water, and I know it sounds stupid to be talking about Adam’s apples, but it was damn sexy. I wanted to run over with another water bottle just to watch him drink more."
Sam giggles.
“Do you hear yourself, Mags? You’re totally a stalker.”
I nod.
“I know, and he’s old too. I mean, he looks really good but he’s Corey’s dad, so I figure he has to be at least forty, right?”
Sam nods.
“At least. So have you actually talked to him?”
I shrug.
"Not really. Mostly I just watch because I have a perfect view of their house and yard from my bedroom window. But I’ve had a few very short conversations with Mr. Sterling in the past. Just random stuff like where’s a good dry cleaners, where’s the post office, that sort of thing. But I’ll add one more thing: I bet he could be a Playgirl model."
Sam squeals with laughter.
“How do you know?”
I smirk naughtily.
“Let’s just say that I was watching when he got out of the pool the other day, and his shorts were stuck to his package from the water. They outlined his you-know-what and that thing was huge! Like as wide as a Coke can, and definitely very Playgirl-worthy.”
Sam gasps.
“You have to find out in real life. Get binoculars for a closer look, and hell, a camera too so that you can record it and show me afterwards.”
I laugh. "You’re too unimaginative, girl. I’m thinking of finding out in more of a hands-on way, if you know what I mean."
Sam’s eyes go wide and then we both giggle.
"Are you serious? But how are you going to manage that?"
I shrug.
"I have no idea but it’ll happen somehow. I guarantee it.”
My buddy laughs again and stands up, slinging her pack over one shoulder.
“Well, it’s time to get to class, Mags, but I’m excited to hear what comes next because I know that somehow, you’ll find a way. I totally support your efforts.”
My buddy’s right and I nod while picking up my bag too.
“You’re right. I am going to find a way, and Ed Sterling will never know what hit him.”
Then, we stroll out of the library and onto our next class, already giggling and chatting about a different subject. But the truth is that I do want to see what Ed Sterling’s packing with my own eyes, and maybe even handle it with my hands too. Why not? My new neighbor may be an older man, but older men have needs too, and I’m just the girl to fulfill his fantasies.
2
Maggie
Now that classes are done for the day, I sit alone in my room, prisoner to a tight curfew from my parents. It’s all my sister’s fault. Primrose is a fantastic person, but she’s the runaway bride too. She literally left her groom at the altar to marry Barry Childers, a man she met through an escort agency. Yes, my lovely sister was an escort for about one second in Manhattan, and the one client that she actually met, she married. It’s crazy right?
But the end result is that now, my parents basically keep me locked up. I don’t know what they’re afraid of. That I’ll run off to the city, and leave them high and dry? That I’ll become an escort? Or that I’ll meet and marry a billionaire, which is what Barry is? My parents are just too sensitive because after Prim ditched her wedding, they couldn’t show their faces at the country club for weeks, they were that embarrassed.
But the result is that now, I’m so bored that I feel like my brain is leaking out of my ears. I’ve watched everything on Netflix and I’m so tired of aimlessly scrolling through the feed on my phone. My friends like to post things like a new outfit or what they ate for breakfast, and it’s really repetitive. I sigh. Even the internet feels lame these days. I suppose I could take some of my dirty clothes off the floor and separate them for washing or hanging in the closet, but I don’t feel like it. That would be too mature. Instead, I sit on my bed and stare at the mess.